


What You Want (Is Right Here)

by just_another_classic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Underworld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:28:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5666071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_classic/pseuds/just_another_classic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They sit on stairs leading up what is meant to be their home, thighs pressed together and fingers laced, neither really saying anything." Emma and Killian at their "house" in the Underworld.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Want (Is Right Here)

The Underworld is nothing like Emma had expected.

 

 It isn’t fire or brimstone, but instead a twisted version of Storybrooke – slightly wrecked with a feeling of wrongness, but still ultimately recognizable. Their house, the one that was meant to represent her and Killian’s future, is what stands out to her though. It looks immaculate, a perfect mirror of what was left behind. Fitting, since all the memories she and Killian had shared there had been nothing but fraught with lies and pain. There is little Hades could do to make it any worse.

 

That’s where they find themselves, she and Killian, as the wander aimlessly through the Underworld. She knows that they should get back to the main part of town and reunite with her family, but instead they sit on stairs leading up what is meant to be their home, thighs pressed together and fingers laced, neither really saying anything. There were times where she had allowed herself to envision the two of them sitting on this very porch, but those fantasies had included mugs of hot cocoa, maybe a blanket wrapped around their shoulders as they take in the night. Whatever her dreams had been, her reality is not that.

 

Killian is quiet. His silence is so foreign to her. She is so accustomed to his willingness to talk, his ability to always make a witty aside or inappropriate innuendo serving as both points of annoyance and admiration. It throws her a bit, but nowhere as much as the fact that when he looks at her, Killian can’t quite meet her eyes. That hurts. There’s a small part of her who wants to laugh at the irony of it all – that he was the one who first fought for her and chased her, and now she has to be the one to coax him back. It’s maddening.

 

Unwilling and unable to stand it anymore, Emma breaks the silence.

 

“What did you want from here?”

 

“I don’t follow.” Killian jerks her head toward her, confusion etched across his features.

 

If he expected her to say anything, it wasn’t this. Emma knows they need to discuss what happened between them prior to his death, the words that were said, and the mutual harm they caused one another. There will be time for that. Now, she just wants to revel in his presence, the fact that he is here and that bringing him back is one step closer. Besides, any hashing out of issues between them is not a stoop sort of conversation, but rather one that will be long, drawn out, and painful. She’s experienced enough pain for today. They both have.

 

“You and Henry picked at this place. At least, the Storybrooke version, you did.” Emma gestures behind her to the house to indicate the meaning of the statement. “You had to have some sort idea for what you wanted to happen here.”

 

Under normal circumstances, her comment would be sure to earn a biting innuendo or a waggle of eyebrows. If he were feeling particularly frisky, a devious roll of hips. Instead, Killian looks down and shifts uncomfortably, not yet speaking. Emma wants so badly for some part of the Killian she knew before to shine through, if only to convince herself that she didn’t completely destroy the man she loved when she forced the darkness upon him.

 

“I wanted to cook you dinner,” he says finally.

 

“You can cook?” She asks, unable to contain to humor in her voice. A mental image of Killian in a chef’s hat and apron leaps unbidden to her mind, and she has to stifle any further giggling.

 

“Aye, lass, I can.” He rolls his eyes, her ever-dramatic pirate, but Emma can catch the hint of offense taken underlying his words. “I may have been a pirate, but I still needed to eat.”

 

“I would like that. You cooking for me,” Emma says, sobering quickly. She knows she unintentionally hurt him just then, and feels immensely guilty for it. This isn’t how she wanted their conversation to go. As an apology, she squeezes his hand a bit tighter and leans into his shoulder. He tenses a bit, but relaxes just as quickly. “Besides cooking me what is sure to be an amazing dinner, what else did you have in mind?”

 

“Swan…” Killian makes a move to stand, to argue, to remove himself from this conversation, but Emma drags him back down to her, unwilling to let him go.

 

“Killian, talk to me, please,” she pleads. She hates how closed off he is with her right, the look of loss present in his eyes. He was once so willing to tell her he wanted a future with her, that she was his happy ending. His hesitance now nearly breaks her. She grabs his chin, forces him to look at her.

 

“Why are you asking me all of this?” Killian asks, his voice so, so weary.

 

“You wanted a future with me. I want to know what it was that you wanted.”

 

He closes his eyes and sighs, a deep heavy thing that can only begin to describe the tumult of emotions he must be feeling. He takes a moment to move her hand from his jaw, to tangle his fingers with her own. Foreheads pressed together, she can feel the hot puffs of breath against her skin, labored and stricken.

 

“I wanted it all, love. I wanted to line our boots together, see you finally break that infernal habit of throwing them every which way. I wanted to read books by the fire in the den, spend nights watching that Netflix of yours just so I could finally understand all of those bloody references you make. I wanted to sit on this porch, right here, and describe every constellation to you, and tell you that none come close to matching your beauty. I wanted to make love to you in our bed every night, and wake up in your arms every morning. I wanted to watch your son become a man. I wanted to raise a child of our own. I wanted us to have a family, Swan. I wanted us to carry out the rest of our days in this home, happy and together.”

Emma feels something hot on her cheek, and realizes not only is she crying, but Killian is as well.

 

“That sounds wonderful.”

 

She’s never heard anything better.

 

“Aye, love, it would have been.”

 

Though the utter sense of loss in his voice makes her want to cry more, it also strengthens her resolve to bring him back. She’s already found him, and she will not give up that future, that incredibly wonderful future he described without a fight. “It still can be. We can still have it.”

 

Killian looks unconvinced.

 

“We will, you’ll see. You just have to try a little thing called trust.”

 

His lips quirk up at her reference, the first semblance of a smile she had seen cross his face since their reunion. It’s a beautiful, wonderful thing. She’s missed it, that smile of his.

 

Unfortunately, the smile doesn’t last long, and his face turns serious again. “After everything I did, how can you –“

 

She cuts him off. “Do you still want that future?”

 

“Aye, more than anything.”

 

She brushes her lips against his, tentative, scared. He sighs when she pulls away from him, looking a little lost when the embrace breaks. She stands, and reaches her hand out.

 

“Then let’s go home.”

 

They do.


End file.
